


Dreams that were never fulfilled (Every time, they become tears)

by LW_Gomes



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 07:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17503976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LW_Gomes/pseuds/LW_Gomes
Summary: - I’m here to survive. - He says, but takes the knife away from the elder's neck nonetheless.Jacob tenses instinctively and tries to pull away, but the other doesn’t let him. Looking calm, cold and slightly mad with the sadness of goodbye, Kevin looks nothing like himself. And he repeats:- I’m here to survive. What are you here for, Jacob?





	Dreams that were never fulfilled (Every time, they become tears)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is my first The Boyz story so I hope I don't dissapoint too much. I never thought I'd write something in the Hunger Games universe, but inspiration hit me suddenly and I decided to type this out. I did read the books long ago, and I tried to research what I didn't remember, but please forgive any innacuracies.  
> Likewise, my mother language isn't english so I might have let some mistakes sneak past while reading it over. Please don't feel shy to point those out! I am also always open to compliments and criticism, so hit me up if you want to say anything and it'll be well received.  
> I wish you a good reading!  
> With love,  
> LW_Gomes.

The first person that Kevin sees in the arena is himself.

The cornucopia shines in the distance as shots go off, a signal allowing them to run, and he takes a deep breath as the rising sun shines on his skin for what feels like the last time. The rays are golden yellow, like the reflection of his face in the mirrors way ahead, and he stupidly thinks for a second: _wow, my eyesight must have improved._ It’s a stupid commentary given the circumstances, but he allows himself a small burst of happiness. He hasn’t lost himself, not yet.

Wind blows harshly against his face and he runs faster than he ever did in his life. He’d never been the most athletic – he’s used to always being on the losing team with his friends for some reason or another -, but the training is engraved in his brain by now and he takes advantage of his light physique to slip in between the brawls all around him. He puts his hand through the strap of a backpack as his other one grabs a set of throwing knives. The breeze picks up with a cutting sound and his eyes widen, ducking his head in time to avoid the arrow rushing by. He rolls under a table and hopes it’s enough that they’ll miss his presence.

Breathing deep, he accesses the situation. The woods look far away enough that he almost regrets coming to the Cornucopia, but he knows it’s not possible to survive on no resources with his background. Running steps come closer and he tenses, shifting his weight onto his thighs and sprinting out of the eye of the storm. He raises a knife and tries to look behind him through the reflection, but it’s hard to do that and avoid the bodies on the floor at the same time so he gives up on the idea quick enough and hopes for the best. The trees welcome him with a calm that is misplaced and he stops to look around, grip tight on his blade and ready to flee.

His eyes cross with warm ones far away through the foliage. Unknowingly, he feels his body relax, his mind unwind slightly from the whirlwind of emotions going through it. He isn’t silly as to think that they’ll both make it to the end, but there’s a strange sort of relief that comes with knowing that Jacob is still alive. He smiles.

They shouldn’t have become close, really. If he was any smarter, had a bit more of self-control, a bit more of self-restraint, it wouldn’t have happened; after all, there was nothing compelling them to get together. But they did, still. He thinks it was the familiarity. The way they seemed to be the only ones with little thirst for blood but a determination for survival nonetheless. How they fumbled their way through unfamiliar weapons before gravitating to the blades side by side. How they got closer with no effort. Through his eyebrow raises and Jacob’s gentle stares, through nights of observing the competition only to realize that his hair fell beautifully around his eyes as it got tangled on his lashes. He tried to resist the pull but it was too strong, or maybe Kevin was just too weak.

He can’t really say he regrets it. Things would be much different had they not known one another, he figures, turning his back and walking further into the woods. Things _will_ be much different now that he has someone he actually cares about enough to worry. Even so, imagining the last moments of his life without Jacob’s presence seems like a waste, because getting to know him was like finding the missing piece of a puzzle he’d been stuck on for his whole life.

His coach, the last champion, didn’t seem to notice or maybe didn’t care about their proximity on the days leading up to the Hunger Games. He knows he has no faith in him, instead throwing his efforts and expectations on the girl accompanying him. Kevin barely remembers her face, let alone her name, but that’s how it should be. That’s how it should be, and yet he is closer to a random boy from a random district than to a girl he should have known since infancy. It’s an irony and a mistake all in one.

If Kevin needs to blame something, he blames Jacob. Blames the way his eyes shine beautifully, and that his hands seem to mimic guitar playing in the air, and that his voice washes over him like cotton candy being dunked in lemonade and melting into refreshing sweetness. Blames the fact that he met an angel while being thrown in a game orchestrated by the devil, and that they are both bound to meet their endings through it in one way or another. And he blames himself. Above all, he blames himself for despite having walked away, still cherishing the memory of his eyes and falling deeper than ever.

It’s like a personal obstacle, the way he seems to be stuck in his head, pictures of them wrapped in vices of nostalgia that slip through his conscious like burning lava – filling every little spot they find and melting those they don’t, until all he can think about it _Jacob, Jacob, Jacob._ He’s fighting for his life, fighting to go back to his home, but in spite of that he doesn’t know what he’d do if he and the other were ever to have a showdown.

Ultimately, this is why they decided to split up. Maybe it was a good idea, maybe it was a bad one. Being together would mean a higher chance of survival, but is it really so if a win for them both actually means a defeat? It’s morbid, but they’ve agreed on it: it’s best that they don’t see one another. It’s best if one of them dies before the end.

Goodbye had been painful. It wasn’t really a goodbye but it felt like one, as he sneaked away in the midst of the night before to press himself against the elder undercovers. There was a weird sort of warmth in him paired with a dread that shook his bones, and he realized that for all that he mocked romance books where people fell in love too quickly and with no explanation, he could understand them now. Feeling Jacob’s arms around him, he lets his mind run to find ways where they’ll both make it, but time passes even quicker and, deep inside, his soul has accepted the truth.

So, despite itching to run back to the elder, Kevin presses on. It’s hard to find shelter right away, let alone one with little risks of being spotted, but he makes do. Hours later, he is on top of a tree as the sun sets. The rope keeping him safe is tight around his waist, but he hasn’t really taken a deep breath since arriving at the arena so he doesn’t feel it. Instead, he rests against the bark and muses that, were the situation any different, he’d like drawing the view. It has a weird sense of aesthetic beauty, the way the happy yellow bleeds into orange and grows darker and darker like souls shifting away in the middle of a bloodbath. Sundown, he thinks, is a lot like the sunrise was on that day. Increasingly filled with gloom and fear and death. The night is cold and rubbing its chill around him from every way as it approaches. He hears cannons in the distance but doesn’t dare look up, lest he sees a familiar face in the sky.

The games are a torture, he thinks.

A personal torture for someone who loves as easily as him.

* * *

It’s honestly weird but Kevin doesn’t think he recognizes himself.

He isn’t silly as to say he is always bright, but he’d always been on the happier side of the spectrum. He’s loud, boisterous even, and the kind of person to always crack jokes – sometimes to hide his nervous awkwardness, sometimes just because his wit and sarcasm need an outlet. Here, in the arena, that sort of carefreeness that he carried around his whole life is hidden behind dark eye bags and an edge of nervousness that is closer to fright.

He doesn’t know for how long he’s been in the fight, but it feels like forever. Hunger and pain accumulate making survival harder by the second, but he knows he’s got no backing up when the Capital probably hates him for hiding rather than fighting. _I’m no killer_ , he tells himself, as time walks slowly as if to drag on the days before he is forced to either become one, or a victim.

It comes faster than expected. Although he’d been dreading it, when it happens, anxiousness runs freely in his body in such intensity that it’s hard to feel anything else. He’s walking quietly, trying not to startle the group of Careers that he hears in the distance, when he sees them.

He doesn’t really recognize them at first. The taller guy is slightly buff, but his face is unremarkable. He might be from any district from 1st to 12th and Kevin can sincerely say he wouldn’t be able to tell – and wouldn’t that be ironic when, days later, he’d wake up shivering while remembering the very same face. The other boy, however, has a much more startling presence. Days have gone by but Jacob looks as beautiful as ever, if a bit haunted and dirtier around the face. Kevin gasps silently, and almost smiles upon seeing him, before realizing that the scales are tipping against him in scary proportions.

He shouldn’t help. This is why they aren’t together to start off with. He almost wishes for the bless of ignorance that would come with never having stumbled upon the scene. Still, it feels like a chance to do something right, something worthy. To save the one person that never deserved to be put in a place such as the one they are in. He hesitates, afraid of the situation, wondering the best course of action, panicking as he realizes the consequences what he’s about to do.

The guy pressed Jacob against a tree, hands around his neck, and Kevin looses it.

\- Hell no. – He whispers to himself, shifting closer from behind the trees until he is crawling in the bushes. He gets ready, grip tight on the dagger and wrist loose, flicking it expertly until the metal glints as it travels through the air.

The body falls to the ground with little fuss, and he hides again. He doesn’t dare look at it for a couple moments because it feels difficult to accept what he has just done, even if he’d always knows his reality was bound to become this at some point. His hands tremble. In the distance, he hears the ruffling of the leaves that indicate someone approaching, but something inside of him tells him he has nothing to worry about, so he doesn’t. He opens his eyes again to his weapon being offered back, clean of blood even though he knows it was stuck deep inside the guy’s neck just seconds before. The hands that pull him up use the already dirty rag they carry to wipe out the tears accumulating in his eyes. For a second, he isn’t District 6’s tribute, but rather just Kevin Moon again; and he allows himself to crumble for a bit. The hold around him is comforting and restrictive at the same time, like the inside of a coffin must feel like. He burrows deeper in the elders chest.

\- Thank you. – Jacob says above him, because they both know it’s useless to ask if he’s okay.

\- It’s okay. - He says, and it isn’t.

It isn’t but it might be.

* * *

They end up staying close.

It was hard enough to turn their backs on each other once, so they can’t bring themselves to do it a second time. Kevin knows they must, knows like he knows that the tree leaves are green and that it’s hard to breathe when they are apart. Above all, knows that Jacob knows as well. He ignores it, they both do. Cannons sound loudly in the night, close to what he thinks the ruffing of drums on a sacrificial ceremony would, and they shiver as they hug closer. Each shot means they are closer to surviving. Each shot means they are closer to losing one another.

He doesn’t know how far they are from the end of this. He sees the shift of the trees, the raise of the water level in the streams around them, and figures that since the process is being sped along it must be near the end. That _they_ are displeased that the both of them aren’t moving. For now, nineteen shots have gone out in the distance, and they are playing too close to fire. It’s when he hears the twentieth, on their third night after regrouping, that a panic makes him drop the firewood in his arms. They cross eyes over burning flames and a sudden understanding comes. This is the last night. The next day, they’ll part for the last time.

He sleeps soundly despite it all, enjoying the last calm and happiness he’ll get. Like so, morning creeps up on them and knocks down hope mercilessly. Their faces are close when they open their eyes, but they don’t separate or get up right away. For some seconds, maybe some hours, they pretend like time hasn’t past. Kevin almost wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t. There is nothing fair about such a farewell.

\- I’ll see you in the end. - Jacob says.

It’s ironic, especially so since that’s just what they are trying to avoid, but Kevin understands the meaning behind it. The awkward despair to make sure they survive, but also hope that the other does the same. Still, it doesn’t sound like he believes it, and Kevin knows the reason for that is that he fears for his own life. He laughs slightly to himself. Between the both of them, one has a chance of making it out alive and, resignedly and fearfully – but also with an unexplainable relief –, he accepts that it’s not him.

\- Yes. - He answers, wearing a cocky smile that drips sincerity but feels like a mask. - I’ll see you soon.

With confidence, even overly so from the outside, but filled with an insecurity that grows and spills once you knock his walls down, he gets up and pulls his backpack close. It’s a given that he doesn’t believe in his own words, but what matters is that the other does. The elder needs something to fight for, and Kevin is willing to pretend if only so that he can be that something. So he doesn’t look back and walks away.

 _It mustn’t feel like an ending_ , he repeats to himself in his head, _Jacob can’t deal with a goodbye right now_. He hides behind a tree and acts as if he walked further. Minutes later, he risks looking back and allows tears to fall as he looks at the elder’s back.

It mustn’t feel like an ending, and yet, he knows without doubt that it is one.

* * *

Days later, fatigue is heavy on his body when Kevin realizes that no new deaths have happened. It brings fear onto him. If that’s the case, then certainly the arena will turn on them soon enough. He tries to get ready but he knows there isn’t really any way of getting ready for it. He almost regrets ignoring the feast when it happened, but he knows it was the best thing to do.

He kneels by a stream to have a drink. Through the reflection, red glints behind him with a growing heat. He stumbles into the water, choking on his mouthful and struggling to run further away through the heavy currents. Solid earth is a relief that comes with the sensation of burning and, looking back, he sees the fire spreading closer. He curses. Dashing in between the dense forest, he can barely feel the branches scratching him, but the accumulated tiredness causes his muscles to ache and spasm so much that adrenaline can barely cover it up.

He is panting and slipping when he reaches the end of the woods. Sweat makes his eyes sting and he wants to cry in desperation but the sobs get stuck in his throat as he panics. The crippling and banging of the trees dying behind him is terrifying, so much that he almost hopes he’d died already so that he wouldn’t face it. He has nowhere to run to, he accepts, looking at the cliff only a couple steps ahead. He doesn’t think he’d survive the fall, even with the water on the bottom of it, but the flames come close enough that he considers it: if he’s dying anyways, might as well take a chance and go with the less painful way. He takes a deep breath.

 _Jesus take the wheel_ , he thinks, laughing to himself quietly as the anxiety booms within his chest. He looks back, before sprinting on a run and jumping. Hell burns the world behind him as he settles on a new one.

* * *

It’s almost over, he thinks, trudging in the woods.

He doesn’t know who is walking along with him, but he knows they are the last ones. The cannon sound rings in his ears although the night is almost over. He took to counting the shots if only to reassure himself that he isn’t the cause of one of them – even if he can remember at least one face that shines on the sky due to his blade. Still, twenty two. One more to go. He’ll make sure it’s not him.

He breathes in, hearing the shift of the leaves behind him. Getting ready for confrontation, he slows down and pretends that sleep is trying to claim him, a show that’s close enough to reality to make it believable. He tightens his grip in his blade and waits for the right moment, swinging out and grabbing whoever was behind him in one fluid motion.

Jacob stares at him with shock and slight fear coating his expression. If Kevin thought killing anyone in the arena would be difficult, this feels inconceivable. The knife feels like hot coal in his hands. For a second, he thinks about actually doing it, about living with the guilt and pain and nightmares but surviving. It would be easy, maybe too easy, to end Jacob’s life now that it came down to it. He looks into his eyes, like beautiful gems shining in the darkness, and realizes that he never loved anything before loving him. Not even himself.

His ears are still ringing louder than the sound of their breathing, or the shift of the leaves, or the voices in his head screaming at him to make a decision. Twenty two. One more to go. He’ll make sure it’s not _him_.

\- I’m here to survive. - He says, but takes the knife away from Jacob’s neck nonetheless. They look at each other for some moments and there is a dark resolve in the younger’s eyes that Jacob does not understand. - But I’m not here to become a murderer, especially not  _yours_ , and I don’t know if I could.

Kevin slips the blade back inside his boots and walks back until his back rests against a burnt tree trunk. They’ve survived too much to get to where they are and, now, there’s only them here at the end of the fight, too bloody and worn out to want to see the conclusion of it. He reaches a hand as if to pull the elder closer and suddenly it doesn’t feel as if they’ve met again just seconds ago, in a flurry of fear and surprise and shock. It’s got to be a terrible joke that out of twenty four people, the only two left would be them.

Jacob steps closer and his mind screams at him to hug the man in front of him, but he refrains. The other looks at the dagger gripped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles are white. He knows what it looks like. He wants to tell the younger that he is afraid and angry, not at him but at the situation, but the words get lost before they reach the air. Still, Kevin must understand or not care at least, because all he does is breathe deeper and sink more into the hard surface behind him. Their fingers meet around the blade until they are nearly intertwined, and Jacob forgets fear right until the man raises their conjoined hands to his own neck and presses slightly, blood spilling. He tenses instinctively and tries to pull away, but the other doesn’t let him. Looking calm, cold and slightly mad with the sadness of goodbye, Kevin looks nothing like himself.

\- I’m here to survive. - He repeats, as if that is going to increase his chances, as if he isn’t throwing his life into Jacob’s hands right that second for no good reason. - What are you here for, Jacob? 

\- I don’t know. - He replies honestly. 

As if a dam broke, his eyes fill with tears and his hands tremble, making blood coat the metal until it slips and stains both their skins. He tries to control himself because he doesn’t want to harm the younger but, mercifully, Kevin brings their hands down. The pain doesn’t seem to bother him, and he looks as if he knows more about the world than he ever did, with a patronizing and pitying stare of understanding that should be uncomfortable, but makes Jacob feel relief. 

\- I guess I’m just here, because I couldn’t not be. - He continues. – But I want to survive. 

Kevin grins lightly, and pulls him close into his chest. The sun is rising way up ahead into the horizon and Jacob relaxes, thinking about how long they can drag this on before the arena turns on them and makes them both perish. He’s scared of death but, still, an unbidden thought comes. It would be better, he thinks, better than dying alone.

\- It’s good that you want that. - Kevin answers above him, rubbing his cheek on his hair. – You’ll succeed.

The words sound weird because Kevin can’t know who’ll survive out of them both, and Jacob knows for a fact he won’t be able to kill the other. He ignores it at present. The younger’s hand feels cold around his waist, and as his own grip the back of his jacket, he realizes he must have dropped the dagger in the ground somewhere. He presses closer to the other, whose body twists as if trying to reach behind himself or touch his own side without startling him. It’s a rough movement and Jacob wants to complain because it makes the icy wind reach in between their bodies, but suddenly fire spills around his front and wets his shirt.

\- You can leave now. - Kevin chokes above him, taking a long break in between as if it’s hard to breathe. – It’s okay…

His body is slipping down, and hits the ground before Jacob finds the strength to even try and support it better. His voice booms in his ears and sound like a smile, but all it does is make him want to cry more intensely than ever. He’s in shock. Jacob wants to reach and help but his mind is a mess of feelings and he can hear his own voice – his own cries – but his brain doesn’t seem to register what he says. Kevin winces where he lies on the ground, but keeps reassuring him as if he’s not the one hurt. Even like this, he looks pretty like a picture; maybe even more so like one of those morbidly violent paintings that got so much love in the past. His breaths sound like a melody but hurt his ear like the screams of a Banshee. There is nothing he can do to help, but his hands wander, blood wetting his clothes until they are heavy like a thousand stones but still lighter than his heart.

He can’t understand why he’d do it, but somehow understands it better than ever. He wishes he hadn’t hesitated, that he’d done it himself before Kevin could have a chance, that the arena and the other tributes had killed him before this stage came. His tears wash away the blood that splattered on the others face and the younger laughs, slightly weak.

\- You know… I never thought I’d see an angel before dying, but you’re here. So, thank you. – He sounds delirious, nothing like Kevin usually sounds like and heavily uncharacteristic. Still, it makes Jacob smile, acceptance settling bitter than ever.

\- Don’t joke, you fool. – He replies, fingers tracing his face so that he can never forget it. Not that he thinks he would.

They stay silent for a long time, as he slowly gathers the man in his arms, his head slumping in the curve of his neck. It almost feels like the night before the Hunger Games, when he realized he’d never be able to be the same person again. Now, that seems more obvious than ever, because his skin feels the change of the wind as Kevin’s breathing slows like a sentence that wraps tighter around his heart each time. It’ll burst at some point, he notices, and love will spill bloody inside of him until he drowns.

He’s thrown back to when his biggest fear was not making it out alive. He blinks. Kevin’s white skin is paler but stained in red. His beautiful eyes and sassy grin wiped out in slight agony. He stops moving and his lashes flutter and his voice disappears into nothingness but resonates like a beautiful song of damnation that will follow Jacob for all his life. He’d been wrong, he suddenly realizes. Dying alone would be a mercy compared to this.

The sun glares at him as it rises. It’s burning hot, like his heart beating desperately inside his chest, but he feels cold - or maybe numb - enough to hope for it to come closer and take him without pain. The sky is blue, no clouds to hide the pretty color of the reflection of Kevin’s hair when the light hit it just right. His dreams melt away as the sunlight shines upon him, and he keeps staring with stinging eyes as the moon’s outline grows dim and hoping for time to turn back, but it’s in vain. He feels as if he is locked on an eternal dark night, but, ironically, the sun is shining.

The moon won’t ever come again, he accepts.

**Author's Note:**

> Credits: The title is taken from the lyrics of Kevin's OST for Saimdang: Light's Diary, titled Half.


End file.
